Angels
by Kirjava Deamon
Summary: She lay in the snow, the crimson snow. She moved her head painfully, blood trickling from her mouth. Then she whispered, “Ron…” she coughed, “they’re angels. They’ve come for you.” (complete)


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Angels**

_By Kirjava Deamon_

_On angel's wings they fly,_

_Higher and higher into a starry sky_

_My tears can only follow_

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**Summary**: _She lay in the snow, the crimson snow. She moved her head painfully, blood trickling from her mouth. Then she whispered, "Ron…" she coughed, "they're angels. They've come for you."_

**I do not own the series Harry Potter, Ron Weasley or Hermione Granger or any other things that are recognizable.  This is also a VERY short one-shot. Not my best…**

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**Three children, almost adults that looked no older than seventeen were in a photo, dressed in their school robes baring the Gryffindor crest. One of the boys with jet hair and emerald eyes stood to the left, in the middle a girl with a bright smile and a tall fire haired boy with his arms around the girl. They were laughing; something the old lady never did anymore. One family. One love. One friend. She held the photo closer, eyeing it through old eyes. She then remembered.**

"It was the winter of '99, on the verge of a new millennium. Though, to us at the time, it would be greeted by red snow. Red snow fell from the skies.

I was only nineteen at the time, but I still fought along sides of the greatest (and oldest) wizards of the era. On the final battle ground, resting place for so many souls, I stood tall on the right of the Harry Potter and my hard eyed brother and friend, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Us four waited as front line for the attack—our last of so many battles. This was the final war but fates had yet decided the victor.

I watched as a mediwitch, not a fighter. I stood on the side watching in slow-motion as the light side stood strong as dark charged on winged horses," the old woman stopped for a moment and coughed, "you would never believe how children, barley adults, could fight. But they did."

"The rain fell so hard, and so much blood was on my hands that night, they fought until dawn then the dark retreated, leaving me with the bodies of_ their _dead."

Pause. The old lady stopped muttering the story, one that wasn't _her _story, and closed her eyes. She remembered then.

**She felt around blindly in the snow, after having taken a shot to her eyes. She thrashed, sending spells in every direction. Unknown to her were the receivers, they could have been her _own_ side but then she didn't care. She had to find him, after she'd seen him go down. Crestfallen, but with a tinge of hope left, something so many others had forgotten, she plunged violently through the snow. **

She old lady straightened and returned to speaking: "Shortly after the first attack happened, we lost two_. They_ only one. Parvati Patil and Dean Thomas were our loses, an unknown Slytherin their cost. I never know that Parvati was a fighter, but she was fierce down to her bitter end. Padma was destroyed quite soon after, trying to avenge her twin's murder.

I, as a mediwitch, turned my head from my wounded patient and saw the fall and rise of Hermione Granger, my brother's loved one. I had seen him fall, though I could not leave to find him. She rose, though I could tell injured from the stream of blood trickling from the left cheek bone. I sent my will to her, as I remained in a small, bloodied shack of a hospital."

**"Ron!" she shrieked wildly, her wand sparking in every direction as she plowed through bodies, ignoring the dizziness that was cloaking over her. She was almost to the pile of bodies he had fallen near when someone grabbed her ankle. **

**"Help me," a faint voice whispered. She could barely tell, but knew it was Cho Chang. She looked at the bruised face of the once porcelain-perfect face of the now fallen Ravenclaw. She was about to kneel and help when she remembered Ron. She had to find him. **

**So she turned heel and ran from the dying woman. **

"She said first saw an arm, then the flash of red hair. Only thing, the arm wasn't moving, but it was my brother's. She sat beside him, saying it grew colder. I can't remember the rest, as it was forty years ago. But that was her story," she tells you "that was _hers_. I was Ginny Weasley, but a mediwitch, no fighter. She was Hermione Granger, a _true _fighter. She knows the story, she _was _the story, and she should tell the story." The old lady, a Weasley by name, turned her back, leaving the room.

You exit also; you already know the rest of the story. So _you _remembered now.

**Finally she climbed over the last pile, only seeing now through one eye. The other rendered useless. But as she approached him, her legs gave way to the dizziness. She fell, finally feeling the head wound that rested on her cheekbone. Struggling to stay awake on her hands and knees, she whispered:**

**"Ron. I'm here now."**

**He groans. "Her-her-mione?" he opened one gray eye, seeing for himself she was there. "I-I love..." he trailed off, a gash on his chest opening once more. He muttered some chosen swear words, like he'd do when he'd get a less than good grade (she reminisced bitter sweetly).  He gripped his chest, his shirt and chalk-like skin covered in snow. Red snow. It began to rain. **

**Red rain.**

**Finally, fatigue and her head slash hit Hermione hard, sending her face forward into the snow. Even in a half-conscious state, she could tell he was dying. **

**She looked up, seeing shimmering lights. It may have been hallucination, but she swore she saw a figure in the light.  She lay in the snow, the crimson snow. She moved her head painfully, blood trickling from her mouth. Then she whispered, "Ron…" she coughed, "they're angels. They've come for you."**

** "I love you," he said.**

**His arm went cold.**


End file.
